Those They Left Behind
by whispered touches
Summary: When the green light had faded at last, who was left standing the wreckage of emotional battle? The thoughts of the ones Lily and James left behind. - In loving memory of Lily and James Potter. -


_*~( – Broken – )~*_

The world as he knew it was rocked to pieces when he heard. He stared in utterly dumbfounded silence, hardly daring to believe it, and yet he knew that there was only one explanation – it was the truth.

If he could have – if it was possible, if he had the choice – he would have gone back in time to rectify his mistake before he made it, to keep them safe, like he was supposed to have. When he'd rented dress robes for their wedding two and a half years before, he – along with most of the others present – had imagined them always together, always laughing, always in love. They would grow old together, watch their own children get married, and at last leave the earth as one. But, alas, those fantasies were just that: The few deepest desires of the heart that could never, _would _never, be achieved.

He supposed, somewhere deep down, that he knew switching was the wrong thing to do. Odd behavior had become a not-so-odd occurrence with their newly appointed protector over the past year, and all of them had broadly attributed it to his nervousness – he never had been the bravest of the bunch – while none of them, not one, had ever guessed that he was a spy, a traitor.

He had caused this. He was the base, the first domino that knocked over the others, leading to the final step that ended their lives. It was his fault. He was just as bad, if not worse, than the rest of his family. And he had to fix it.

So he did.

He tried to make up for the colossal problem he had caused, and he carried out this self-given duty in the most brash, hasty, _Gryffindor _way possible:

Vengeance.

He himself may have been the first domino, but that rat was the last, collapsing onto the detonator's feet and blowing them up, the essential pieces of the puzzle. The two of them had been each other's strength, balancing to one another as the sun was to the moon: While he felt that a head-on charge was the best strategy, she helped him see sense by merely a hand on his arm. While she felt that a carefully planned out course was to be taken, he pointed out logically that they didn't have time, and their mission would be wasted if action was not taken. The rat destroyed them.

He didn't know what he was thinking when he cornered him. Was he really going to kill one of his best friends? This was the boy who had stuck – however rarely, but he did it – with him during those horrible few months following the Whomping Willow incident, which had nearly ruined his whole life. This was the boy who had always enjoyed a good-natured joke, and, although he never had the power, stood up for what he believed in.

But then it dawned on him that his opponent was doing just that as he divulged their location and ended their youthful lives. It was his choice.

That epiphany drove him to open his mouth, but before he could get a sound out, it was suddenly over, and he was being hauled away as a rat, unsighted by the crowd of onlookers, scurried down into the sewers.

Sirius laughed maniacally, and it happened without his complete awareness, because Lily and James were gone, his godson was going to his horrible relatives, and although the goal they had been fighting for – a Voldemort-free world – had been grasped like the Snitch in a Seeker's hand, his best friend had been betrayed by the one person who the entire Order had been relying on for he and his wife's safety. He was going to Azkaban for something he didn't do, where he would suffer twelve years alone, knowing he was that first domino, and that the last one walked semi-free. He would bide his time until his godfatherly instincts kicked in: It was the very least he could do for Lily and James to protect their son.

So he did. But he was broken.

_*~( – Resentful – )~*_

He'll never guess what was going through his mind those few hectic months. Perhaps he had, subconsciously, felt underappreciated, as he would whenever all the others – at school, at Order meetings – would overlook him for his friends: They were all tall and handsome, always in the ladies' hopes and dreams; he was short and _not _handsome, always the ladies' last resort; They were always the masterminds or the proofers behind the pranks; he'd come up with seven great ideas in as many years; They'd passed their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s without studying; he'd barely moved on to the next year even though he'd started cramming in November. He could just never compare to them.

Perhaps it was these things that drove him to the other side, where bad was good, good was bad, enemies were allies, and allies and friends were enemies. His world was turned around, upside-down, and inside-out.

And yet with all the danger and hazards and treachery that it would involve tattooed onto his forearm, he drilled his way in deeper and deeper, until at last he was stuck at the intersection of Dark and Light with the one decision that would decide his true allegiance resting on his shoulders.

He'll never know what made him do it. He never had been one to think things through fully, even when the circumstances were ones that he was perfectly capable of dealing with. All he was sure of was that he had to escape capture and torture and pain, and, as he had just been proven, there was a good – or not-so-good, depending on how one looks at it – way to do so:

Death.

It was supposed to be irreversible, final, permanent, but if nobody knew nor cared about him (he hadn't given his mother a second thought), what would it matter if he disappeared until it was convenient?

As before, his guesses were hardly correct. Spending all his time as a rat, unable to eat all he wanted, with his _friends_, was far, far, _far _from his definition of fun. And then, to add insult to injury, he'd had to look into their child's eyes – _her _eyes in _his _face under _his _hair – and see a lonely, rotten, abused childhood, in which nobody was there to love him. He was the cause of that, and he hated himself for it.

The only reason he continued on the path of the Mark was that he knew in his heart and in his mind that they would never welcome him back, with or without welcoming arms, for he had killed them and many others, and he had caused their son ten consecutive years of pain and suffering. There was no one else to turn to that wouldn't kill him on sight.

Peter never thought that he'd belonged in Gryffindor, but he hadn't asked the Sorting Hat for a thing. He would never be sure, but he always thought that it could maybe see the futures of those whose head it sat upon. If this hypothesis was, for once, correct, than the Sorting Hat knew he would need _some _friends to keep him going.

And he did, for a while. But he was resentful every step of the way.

_*~( – Victorious – )~*_

At last, at long, hopeful last, they had been destroyed. One was brash, and one was genius, and without them they would never be captured as they fled and bribed their way out of Azkaban and, quite possibly, death, and what could be more horrible punishments than those? They were noble purebloods whose ancestry stretched back to Salazar Slytherin himself, and to be thwarted time and time again by the Mudblood and the blood-traitor was a situation worthy in and of itself of being shunned.

The Order fell apart at the hinges without those two at the helm of the ship, standing place as the captain's first mates, and they used this to their advantage. People were careless in the two weeks following their downfall, and wreaking revengeful havoc was made far too easy to be good fun. They, in turn, dropped their guard and worry at being caught and identified, and nearly half of their numbers diminished, having been sentenced or left the country (the majority of the latter).

Even in hiding, they celebrated widely, for although their master was not to be seen nor heard from, his greatest enemies had finally been eliminated, and this alone was reason to have some joy in their discreet lives. Death Eaters everywhere could look on the bright side of their compulsory darkness.

They were alone. But they were victorious.

_*~(– Disappointed – )~*_

He first knew when all that he believed in was wrong when he was sent to meet the enemy and deliver a threat. Most would think this was not a life-changing experience, but this bargaining formula was not yet complete without hostages – Muggle hostages. Under the watchful and criticizing eyes of his seniors he was to mess with them in the most gruesome ways imaginable, and to be seen doing so by others – others, he now realized, better than him by far – was as degrading as being pantsed in front of the entire Great Hall at the end-of-term feast (Ah, the memories… They seemed so much brighter, now), and quite equal to a slap in the face.

It took him months and months to learn his Dark Lord's secret to immortality, and when he did he was utterly disgusted. So many murders, just to evade moving on to the next life… Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought of a way to evade death, much less any person who would want to do so like this.

Then, after this horrible find, it was even longer before he managed to locate the locket, and not once did he regret sacrificing his life to get it and have someone destroy it. Dying like a hero, a Gryffindor, like his brother, was the way he really wanted to be remembered. He was ready for the afterlife.

He adjusted easier than he thought he would to death. He had a small apartment, in the same place his real-life one was. He discovered quickly that death was nothing more than a carbon-copy of earth, with the exception that those who did bad deeds were punished appropriately, and vice versa. He liked it there.

Regulus apologized to each and every one of the Order members who'd died fighting his side. When they would snap scathingly, he would plead with them to believe his claim of switching sides. It worked… sometimes.

He was sort of welcome for the company when Lily and James arrived; in fact, they became good friends. But he was disappointed, for how would Tom Riddle ever be mortal once more?

_*~( – Solemn – )~*_

None of them had hardly said a word to each other, even though they had been gathered for a full twenty-four hours. Although they were all exhausted after several long nights' raids, infiltrations, and spy sessions, they could not let sleep smother their senses for fear of yet another vivid nightmare, which they had learned to treat as frequent nighttime visitors since the start of their various duties.

Two comrades had fallen. It had always been like this when somebody had left them – Benjy, Marlene – but now, there was something severely bittersweet about their tremendous victory, and they had no words. Their presences – their beating hearts, their breathing lungs – were the only condolence any one of them could provide each other.

It was like a heavy pressing weight on each of them, something inexpressible, with words or with facial expressions, for they were gone, and no longer would they bring with them to meetings – for who could watch him that was not a member? – that little chubby face that giggled and gurgled at the red stuff that was on top of his mummy's head or the funny round things around his daddy's eyes, a little ray of hope that brought light to the pit of despair they were drowning in.

And for the Order of the Phoenix, there was nothing left to be done except for Dumbledore to declare, "Lord Voldemort is gone. There is no need for us anymore." Yet even with that announcement made, the majority of the lot would come together again and again, once a week, simply to catch up, or to devise a Capture-the-Death-Eaters plan, or to find someplace to grieve in company. It was somewhere new every time – Hestia's, Dedalus's, Remus's – and every time, something new would happen: Another failure, another death, always another chapter in their lives, which now had no involvement with Lily and James and Harry, and, after a few days, Sirius and Peter, and Remus was barely seen anymore, for what was he without the rest of his Marauders?

It was over. And they were solemn.

_*~( – Lost – )~*_

He was losing himself in their absence, all four of them, as he always did whenever he was left alone, like he was on full moon nights when he was a child and his parents were quick to escort him out to the forest with pained expressions, unable to stay with him for their own safety, and he was glad of it. But being without companions for him was like being without an arm or a leg or an eye, because guidance was all he ever really needed in life.

He would shut himself up in his room in his lonely apartment for up to three consecutive days, not coming out to cook himself meals, or even to shower or shave. Those that sought him out would force him to do one and/or both of the above, even when that night would be a dangerous one, because not eating was drastically bad for his waning health that aligned with such phase of the moon.

Sometimes he had no care whatsoever that he was killing himself. Death would be a relief to the horrible reality he was faced with: Three dead and one turned traitor, the latter nothing more than the wielder of the wand, in his eyes. He would once again be with them, leaving _that Black _to drown in his guilt and darkness in Azkaban.

But as soon as this fantasy would float into his dreams – or, more appropriately, nightmares – the little smiling face would burst in front of all the others, and he would remember what he owed them, and he would refrain from turning his wand on himself.

It was for Lily and James and Harry that Remus continued to live his miserable life, and eventually Sirius joined that list when his innocence was learned at the end of twelve friendless, jobless, gray years. He helped the Order like he used to, taking his gravely unfortunate circumstances in his stride, even if it was futile. After Dumbledore's death, when it had hit him like a boulder, he remembered the same feeling from everybody else's disappearances, and he let himself love; he could not carry on alone. He let himself enjoy the short time he would get with his family, like they would all want him to.

When he died, it was with Tonks's lifeless hand clutched desperately in his own, along with the optimistic thought that he would be with his friends again. And when the power of the Peverells called to him, he responded to see Harry's eyes reflecting the last life they would see. Just the way he gazed at Lily was enough to break anybody's heart. Yet, still looking for the silver lining on the black clouds, he realized with a jolt that this would finally be their time as a family. Not his family, exactly, no, but as good as.

As happy as he was with Voldemort defeated and Harry's victorious victory, he could not help but realize: There would be no family; Harry would not be the son, and nor would Teddy (thankfully). So he was lost.

_*~( – Guilty – )~*_

She didn't know how to feel at first. Upset? Normal? But then, she looked down from the letter and at the wailing child's eyes and she knew.

Horrible.

For eleven years she had ignored her sister, treating her no better than she would a rat. Even when her sister had tried – _pleaded _– to fix things, she had maintained a stony silence, her decision firm and rock-solid.

What had happened to her? What had made her this cold, heartless person that no longer cared for her only younger sister? It was too late now to go back and apologize, to stop herself from _ever _uttering the word "freak." Or was there?

It was times like these that made Petunia wish once more that she had magic like _Lily, _precious _Lily _had, but then she would remember that magic was what killed her sister, and she would want nothing to do with it. Next would come the stage that was the memory of the effect this attitude had had on her sister, and she wouldn't know what to feel.

She never was completely sure but of one thing. She was guilty.

_*~( – Abandoned – )~*_

He sometimes wondered, as he huddled in the dark, what they looked like. He could not ask, and there were no photographs to be had. Did he look anything like them? Had they been kind people? What would they do if they knew he lived in a cupboard? Would they be angry? Would they care?

It seemed that he would never know, but still his mind wandered, pondering questions that were unlikely to be answered. He cried alone, without support, he hid alone, without support, and he was miserable alone, without support.

That's how it would always remain for Harry, even when he was wading through a sea of red, silver, black, and the occasional turquoise or other rainbow color. Although he had Molly and Arthur, they just weren't, and would never be, his parents.

He sometimes wondered, as he lay awoken from a nightmare, what his life would have been like had Lily and James been alive. He had long since learned that they were always with him in his heart, in their spirit, but if they had physically been there for him, to hold onto, when Cedric died, or Sirius died, or Dumbledore or Remus or Tonks or Fred or Colin or anybody else. It could have made his job that much easier, or even that much harder.

He would wonder next what would happen if they suddenly became a part of his life, right then and there. Would he ever want them back? Did he miss them? But then, he would reflect on the sad reality. He couldn't want something back that he never had. He couldn't miss something that he never had. It wasn't the same grief as everyone else's, for they would never be there when he needed them most.

He would never know what they wanted. So he was abandoned.

_*~( – The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. – )~* _

_*~( – Fin – )~*_

**Well, that was really, really depressing. I meant to get this out yesterday, but I woke up at eleven, went out to get a haircut at, like, noon, and didn't come back until two thirty, and then my stupid sister needed the computer, and then I had a party to go to, and I didn't come back until ten thirty. And by that point I was just out of inspiration. So, yeah. Hope you liked it.**

_**R.I.P. Lily Potter**_

_**R.I.P. James Potter**_

_**The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.**_


End file.
